THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM.

Matthew, or whoever was the author of the first Gospel, had a rare
eye (or nose) for portents and prodigies. He seems also to have had
exclusive sources of information. Several of the wonderful things he
relates were quite unknown to the other evangelists. They were ignorant
of the wholesale resurrection of saints at the crucifixion, and also
of the watch at the sepulchre, with all the pretty circumstantial story
depending upon it. At the other end of Christ's career they never heard
of the visit of the wise men of the east to his cradle, or of Herod's
massacre of the innocents, or of the star which guided those wise men
to the birthplace of the little king of the Jews. That star is the sole
property of Matthew, and the other evangelists took care not to infringe
his copyright. Indeed, it is surprising how well they did with the
remnants he left them.

Matthew was not a Jules Verne. He had no knowledge of astronomy.
Consequently he did not make the most of that travelling star. It
was seen by wise men "in the east." This is not very exact, but it is
precise enough for a fairy tale. Those wise men happened to be "in the
east" at the same time. They were really "Magi"—as may be seen in the
Revised Version; that is, priests of the religion of Persia; and it
requires a lot of faith to see what concern they could possibly have
with the bantling of Bethlehem. However, they saw "his star," and they
appear to have followed it. They must have slept by day and journeyed
by night, when the star was visible. At the end of their expedition this
star "stood over" the house where little Jesus was lying. Truly, it was
a very accommodating star. Of course it was specially provided for
the occasion. Real stars, rolling afar in the infinite ether, are too
distant to "stand over" a particular spot on this planet This was an
ideal star. It travelled through the earth's atmosphere, and moved
according to the requirements of the gospel Munchausen. What became
of it afterwards we are not informed. Probably it was born and died in
Matthew's imagination. He blew it out when he had done with it, and thus
it has escaped the attention of Sir Robert Ball.

Those star-gazing magi went into "the house," which, according to Luke,
was an inn; Jesus Christ having been born in the stable, because the
"pub" was full, and no gentleman would go outside to oblige a lady: They
opened their Gladstone bags, and displayed the presents they had brought
for the little king of the Jews. These were gold, frankincense, and
myrrh. No doubt the perfumes were very welcome—in a stable; and very
likely Joseph took care of the gold till Jesus was old enough to spend
it on his own account, by which time it appears to have vanished,
perhaps owing to the expenses of bringing up the numerous progeny of the
Virgin Mother. Then the Mahatmas—we beg pardon, the Magi—went home.
Perhaps they are there still. But no matter. We leave that to the
Christian Evidence Society, or the Theosophists.

Candid students will see at a glance that the whole of this story is
mythological. Like other distinguished persons, the Prophet of Nazareth
had to make a fuss, not only in the world, but in the universe; and his
biographers (especially Matthew) duly provided him with extraordinary
incidents. Not only was he born, like so many other "saviors," without
the assistance of a human father, but his birth was heralded by a
celestial marvel. There was a star of his nativity. The wise men from
the east called it "his star." This puts him in the category of heroes,
and bars the idea of his being a god. It also shows that the Christians,
amongst whom this story originated, were devotees of astrology.
Fortune-tellers still decide your "nativity" before they cast your
"horoscope." We are aware that many commentators have discussed the star
of Christ's birth from various points of view. Some have thought it
a real star; others have had enough astronomy to see that this was
impossible, and have argued that it was a big will-o'-the-wisp, created
and directed by supernatural power, like the pillar of day-cloud and
night-fire that led the Jews in the wilderness; while still others have
favored the idea of a supernatural illusion, which was confined to the
wise men—and thus it was that the "star" was not seen or mentioned by
any of their contemporaries. But all this is the usual mixture of Bible
commentators. There is really no need to waste time in that fashion. The
Star of Bethlehem belongs to the realm of poetry, as much as the Star of
Caesar, to which the mighty Julius ascended in his apotheosis.

Thousands of sermons have been preached on that Star of Bethlehem,
and these also have been works of imagination. We have been told, for
instance, that it was the morning star of a new day for humanity.
But this is a falsehood, which the clergy palmed off on ignorant
congregations. The world was happier under the government of the great
Pagan emperors than it has ever been under the dominion of Christianity.
For a thousand years the triumph of the Cross was the annihilation of
everything that makes life pleasant and dignified. The Star of Bethlehem
shone in a sky of utter blackness. All the constellations of science,
art, philosophy, and literature were in disastrous eclipse. Cruelty and
hypocrisy abounded on earth, toil and misery were the lot of the people,
and bloodshed was as common as rain.

Religions, said Schopenhauer, are like glow-worms; they require darkness
to shine in. This was quite true of Christianity. It was splendid when
it had no competitor. To be visible—above all, to be worshipped—it
needed the sky to itself.

One by one, during the past three hundred years, the stars of
civilisation have emerged from their long eclipse, and now the sky of
humanity is full of countless hosts of throbbing glories. The Star of
Bethlehem is no longer even a star of the first magnitude. It pales and
dwindles every year. In another century it will be a very minor light.
Meanwhile it is drawn big on the maps of faith. But that little trick
is being seen through. Once it was the Star of Bethlehem first, and
the rest nowhere; now it takes millions of money, and endless special
pleading, to keep its name on the list.

Christ himself is coming more and more to be regarded as a fanciful
figure; not God, not even a man, but a construction of early Christian
imagination. "Why," asked a Unitarian of a Positivist, "why is not
Christ in your Positivist calendar?" "Because," was the reply, "the
calendar is for men, not for gods."